


Drunk on the Fourth of July.

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: Across the Universe (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're drunk on the fourth of July and they can do whatever they want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk on the Fourth of July.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net in January. I still have no idea where this came from. Slight alternate universe; Lucy doesn't exist in this story.

The streets are clogged with people, drunk and sober and black and white and old and young, all of them merging together into a collective mass of bodies swaying and singing. From his position on his window sill, four stories above the street, Jude's fingers are skating over a sketch pad, trying to capture the shifting mass of people on paper. He lets his hands fly, lightly drawing the outlines of heads and raised arms, clutching bottles of alcohol and lit cigarettes. He knows in the morning that he will more than likely look at this drawing and rip it apart, tossing it into the bin with a noise of disgust even as the others say that it looks wonderful. 

But that doesn't matter because it's the fourth of July and he's drunk. 

They're _all_ drunk, everyone in the apartment. He's aware of the party continuing behind him, beyond his bedroom door, aware of the sound of Sadie wailing in that eerie voice of hers, Jojo's guitar matching her note for note. He has no idea what she's singing about, what any of them are singing about but really, it doesn't seem to matter. He does find it a little strange however, that everyone is so jubilant about the whole event; sure, it's the birthday of their country but he's certain that many of the people below him spend their days criticizing the decisions of their president. Yet here they are, drunk off of joy and whiskey, swaying in time. 

He doesn't think he'll ever really understand America. 

Even as he keeps sketching, he starts picking out individuals in the crowd, saving their images in his mind for the future. There's the young mother with a toddler sitting on her shoulders, decked out in red, white and blue, both of them clapping and singing. Up the street slightly, leaning against a lamp post, there's a man in army fatigues, merely watching the action. If he leans out the window a little more and looks straight down, there's a lesbian couple pressed against the wall, as much caught up in each other as in the festivities. Flipping the piece of paper over, he starts sketching them in greater detail, trying to capture the texture of their hair, the splaying of their fingers, the smiles on their faces when they pull away for breath.

It is that moment, when Jude finally feels himself getting lost in the art, that Max decides to stumble through his bedroom door, slamming it behind him before unsteadily making his way over the window. Jude immediately puts his work away, tossing it in the general direction of his bed. It's impossible to work with Max around, whether he be sober or drunk. The man just demands attention, silently compels one to listen to his outlandish stories. Jude is only too happy to fulfill this duty. 

"You alright Max?" he asks, gripping the window sill as he switches positions, facing his blonde haired friend. 

"I am _wonderful_ ," Max says, grinning to prove his statement. "I was just wonderin' where you'd gone off to." Jude shrugs and nods his head backwards at the pulsating crowd below. 

"I was just watching," he says quietly. "Everyone seems so happy." 

"Well of course they're happy!" Max steps up to the window, placing a palm on either side of Jude and looking out over his shoulder. His breath is warm on the side of Jude's neck and he leans into it, fingers gripping the sill even harder. He's sure that when he looks in the morning, there will be crescent moons embedded into the wood. 

"It's the one day of the year where we can do whatever we want and blame it on sheer patriotism, no matter how much we actually hate this shithole." Max pulls back but leaves his hands on either side of Jude, smiling slightly. 

"Whatever we want," he repeats, staring at Jude with this intensity Jude hasn't seen in anyone else. It's this look that just says _I want you, now_ and it's a look Jude has never seen Max give to anyone else. It never ceases to work on him, stirring up feelings that he tries desperately to hide whenever he's sober. But at this particular moment in time, there's no stopping those feelings from coming to the forefront of his slightly drunken mind, making him move his hands over so that they're resting on top of Max's. The entire time, Max continues to stare at him, his blue eyes reflecting the colors of the fireworks that have started to go off. Jude is only vaguely aware of the noise of them, exploding above the street. He has more important things to focus on, like the fact that Max is leaning into him, lips warm and inviting against his own, stubble scratching against his cheeks as he presses harder. He is worrying slightly about falling out the window but when Max slides one of his arms around his back, he finally shuts off all his connections to the outside word, ignoring any reactions from the crowd as he kisses Max harder. Eventually, they tumble to the bedroom floor, still kissing, needy fingers working at buttons and caressing skin that's been neglected for far too long. 

Somewhere in the farthest reaches of his mind, Jude knows that in the morning, he's probably going to regret this. He knows that the day after is going to be awkward, as it always is, full of stammers and blushing from both parties involved, accompanied by snickers by Sadie and the others. He knows this because it happens every single time, a vicious cycle that he can't escape. 

But, as his palm runs over Max's flat stomach, he tells those thoughts to fuck off, because they're drunk on the fourth of July and they can do whatever the hell they want.


End file.
